Afraid
by Sherlock221
Summary: Sherlock is hurt on a case. Hurt/Sherlock Protective/John.


"Sherlock!" John yelled into the darkness. He had given up chasing after the murderer when he heard a gunshot pierce through the silence of the night and honestly, he was out of breath.

He ran through the alleyway in search of Sherlock. With his luck, the man had probably already gone back to the flat.

He continued through the streets and turned a corner when he collided with someone.

"John!" Lestrade exclaimed. "I've been looking for you guys."

John stepped back, straightening himself and smiling. "Sherlock isn't with you?"

"No. I thought he was with you."

"Ah. Probably running around here somewhere," John stated, chuckling.

"We got the guy. Donovan's taking him to the station right now."

"Good," John said, running a hand over his face remembering the gunshot he heard earlier. "Did somebody get shot?"

"Not that I know of."

Lestrade must have seen the concern in John's face because he said, "Come on. Let's find Sherlock."

They walked alongside each other, both eyes scanning their surroundings. John called out for Sherlock a couple of times with no response.

They were just starting to walk back to Lestrade's car, when John heard a small voice from behind him.

"John," the voice cried out.

John whipped around, immediately sensing the pain constricting the voice. He ran back through the last alleyway and turned around the corner. He looked in both directions and walked towards a large trash bin.

Sherlock sat propped up against a brick wall beside the bin. He hand rested loosely on his stomach. Blood was seeping through his fingers and over his hand.

"Jesus, Sherlock," John said, kneeling beside him and began taking action.

John removed his coat and pressed it against the wound.

Sherlock cried out. "C-caught me off guard," he gasped out.

"Looks like it, mate," John replied, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.

Sherlock's eyes started to flutter closed and John reached out to tap his pale face. "Hey, keep your eyes open."

"Tired."

Before John could reply, Lestrade came running around the corner. His eyes went wide, but he immediately whipped out his phone.

John stopped him. "No. The closest hospital is twenty minutes from here. An ambulance will take to long."

"But-"

"Can you take us?" John interrupted, looking down at his blood covered hands. The coat was now soaked in blood and had stopped doing its job of trying to stop the bleeding.

Lestrade opened his mouth to respond, but John had already begun taking action. John released his hand from Sherlock's. He took off his shirt, leaving his upper half bare. Removing the soaked coat, he placed the clean shirt one on Sherlock's stomach. John guided his friend's hands to the shirt. "Keep pressure on it for me, Sherlock," John whispered to him.

"J-John?" He whispered because if he was hurting then John would make it better, he always made it better. John would handle it. Sherlock moaned in pain, but used his weak hand to press against it.

In seconds, John was on his feet, cradling John in his arms as if he weighed nothing. And really he didn't. With how little he ate. "You're gonna be ok, Sherlock."

John walked out of Lestrade's view with determined steps.

Lestrade ran to the car and noticed John was already in the backseat with Sherlock, the doors closed. He could see John's mouth moving, speaking comforting words to his friend.

John settled himself in the backseat, pulling Sherlock against his chest. He put his hands over Sherlock's, pushing down against the hole in his stomach.

"Sherlock, stay with me ok?" John begged, desperately wanting his friend's wandering eyes to focus on him.

"John-" Sherlock started, but his breath caught in his throat. Pain ricocheted through him, sharp and unrelenting, and he struggled just to draw air into his oxygen starved lungs.

"It's ok," John tried to comfort.

"No," Sherlock gasped, fingers clawing at the arm wrapped across him. His vision narrowed, as once again he began to sink into the dark.

"Christ." John exclaimed. "Just hang on. Lestrade hurry the hell up!" Looking up he saw Lestrade staring at them outside the car. John shot him a glare.

Lestrade jumped out of his shock and opened the door, jumping into the front seat and starting up the car.

"Don't you dare die on me, you idiot," John exclaimed, with a small smile on his face. "Stay with me."

A/N Please let me know what you thought.


End file.
